“All settled? Well, here we go, then. Now, I shall have to sit by the door here to hold it shut, I'm afraid. I told my man to see to having the catch repaired, but when I ordered the carriage out tonight, I found it had not been done yet. It's enough to drive one mad. What is the good of having servants if they pay no attention when you tell them to do something? It's almost enough to make a man wish for slavery here in Bingtown. A slave knows that his master's goodwill is his only hope of comfort and well-being, and it makes him pay attention to his orders.”

And on and on and on, all the way to Trader Concourse. Trader Restart talked and her mother and grandmother listened. At most they only politely differed with him even though she had heard her grandmother say a hundred times that she thought slavery would ruin Bingtown. Not that Malta agreed with her. She was sure Papa would not have become involved with it if it were not profitable. Still, she thought it was rather spineless, the way her grandmother said one thing at home, and then didn't stand up for her views with Restart. The strongest thing she said was, “Davad, I have only to imagine myself a slave to know that it is wrong.” As if that were some final argument. Malta was thoroughly bored with the whole discussion long before the carriage stopped. And she still hadn't managed to finish telling her mother about the flame jewels.

But at least they weren't the last ones to arrive. Not quite. It took every bit of self-control Malta could muster to sit still while Restart fumbled with the faulty door-catch, and then maneuvered himself out the opening. She followed right away, stepping nimbly down before he could take her hand in his moist, meaty palm. The man made her want to go and wash.

“Malta!” her mother called to her sharply as she started up the walk. She didn't even lower her voice as she said, “Wait there. We shall all go in together.”

Malta folded her lips and breathed out once through her nose. She did it on purpose: her mother enjoyed publicly speaking to her as if she were still a child. She waited for them, but when they caught up with her, she purposely lagged behind, not so far that her mother would call her, but far enough that she wasn't quite with them and Trader Restart.

The Trader Concourse was dark. Well, not entirely, but certainly not lit as it had been for the Harvest Ball. A mere two torches burned to illuminate the pathway, and the windows of the hall showed dimly through shutter cracks. That was probably because this meeting had been called by the Rain Wild families. They did not enjoy light, or so it was said. Delo said it was something about their eyes, but Malta suspected that if they all were as ugly as the one she had seen, they just didn't want everyone looking at them. Warty. That was how she had heard them described. Warty and deformed. A little shiver ran up her spine. She wondered how many of them would be here tonight.

Another carriage rattled up behind Davad's just as his coachman clucked to his horses. It was an old style of carriage, with heavy lace panels obscuring the windows. Malta lagged to see who would get out of it. In the dim light, she had to peer to see the crest on the door. It was unfamiliar, not an Old Trader crest. That meant they had to be Rain Wild. No one else would dare to be here tonight. She walked on, but could not resist glancing over her shoulder to see who would get out. A family disembarked, six figures, all cloaked and hooded in dark colors. But as each stepped out, the touch of gloved hand to collar or cuff set tiny amber, red and orange lights to flickering at each location. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and then she realized what they were. Flame jewels. Malta halted where she stood. Oh, the rumors of them could not do them justice. She caught her breath and stared. The closer they came, the more magnificent they were.

“Malta?” She heard the warning in her mother's voice.

“Good evening.” It was a husky woman's voice that came from within the shadowed depths of the hood. And now Malta could see that the hood was veiled with a curtain of lace as well. What could be so hideous, as to need hiding even in darkness? The flame jewels she wore were scarlet, weighing down the edges of her veil. She was dimly aware of hurried footsteps behind her, the soft susurrus of fabric. She startled when her mother spoke right at her elbow. “Good evening. I am Keffria, of the Vestrit Trader family.”

“Jani of the Rain Wild's Khuprus gives you greeting,” the hooded woman replied.

“May I present my daughter, Malta Haven of the Vestrit family?”

“You may indeed.” The woman's voice was a cultured purr. Malta belatedly remembered to bow. The woman chuckled approvingly. When she spoke, it was to Malta's mother. “I do not believe I have seen her at a Gathering before. Has she just entered society?”